


Words Won't Fit Between Our Bodies

by kittycastles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Isaac doesn't leave, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Allison's Death, everything is sad because i hate myself, scallisaac is kinda implied but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycastles/pseuds/kittycastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't talk about it. They don't talk at all. At first, they can't, there's no time, too much to do. The fox is still out there, still needs to be destroyed. Then, there's too many emotions, to much grief, all threatening to boil up to the surface. So they distract themselves (individually, not together, not anymore). Chris leaves and so does Ethan. Everything is changing and in the strangeness and newness of it all they can't seem to face each other.</p>
<p>Weeks pass and Scott and Isaac don't talk. When they're each by themselves they can't even say her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Won't Fit Between Our Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing was inspired by a tumblr post that I can't seem to find, so if someone thinks that they have found it, link in the comments or to my tumblr (kittycastles) or message me or something so that I can credit it.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first actual fic so if you hate it, for the love god, hold your tongue or I might cry. (You can point out grammatical errors though because those annoy the shit out of me)

They don't talk about it. They don't talk at all. At first, they can't, there's no time, too much to do. The fox is still out there, still needs to be destroyed. Then, there's too many emotions, to much grief, all threatening to boil up to the surface. So they distract themselves (individually, not together, not anymore). Chris leaves and so does Ethan. Everything is changing and in the strangeness and newness of it all they can't seem to face each other.

Weeks pass and Scott and Isaac don't talk. When they're each by themselves they can't even say her name.

 ◎◎◎ 

Each night Scott lay in his bed, alone as he hadn't been in a long time. He considered slipping out of his window, running across town and creeping into Allison's room, like the three of them did so long ago, when they were tired and bloody and together after long nights of hunting.

Isaac, alone on the couch in Derek's abandoned loft, has the same thought. (Isaac wasn't sure where Derek had gone, but he was sure he'd return. Derek always did) He was desperate for even the faded scent of her (of them, really). In the end, neither followed through, for fear of seeing the other, not sure what to say or think or do if they did. Instead they each huddled against a cold that wasn't there, arms reaching in sleep for warm bodies they couldn't find.

 ◎◎◎ 

The first time they saw each other it was in the corridor, at school. Scott didn't even realise Isaac had gone back, he hadn't seen him there for all the days since he'd returned. (It was a given that Scott would come back, the pack needed him to. And there was comfort in the routine). They met each others' eyes and paused.

There was something dark and dull and pained in Isaac's eyes and Scott could only imagine what Isaac saw in his. Scott moved to open his mouth and speak, but Isaac beat him to it, parting his lips, to flash lupine teeth peeking out of his gums. Isaac's eyes sparked yellow and he rushed forward, shoving Scott to the ground with a low snarl.

Isaac could control his shift, barely, despite his teeth and eyes. Scott didn't fight back, only deflected Isaac's blows where he could. He had every right to strike at him, to beat his beta into submission. Scott couldn't do it, couldn't raise his fists to Isaac, couldn't harm him so deliberately.

It took three people to tear Isaac from Scott. The alpha was uninjured, but lay prone all the same, unmoving. Isaac turned and fled and didn't look back. Scott couldn't shake the sight of Isaac's eyes, yellow and angry and desperate. Scott couldn't see blame there. He could only see the agony of a boy who lost too much.

 ◎◎◎ 

Days later, Isaac was at the door to Scott's room. He didn't know whether to enter or leave, didn't know what to say. Scott opened the door and waited, silently. Not speechless, but cautious. Hopeful. Before long, they're kissing and it's violent and brutal and filled with teeth and barely-human sounds.

When they fuck, it wasn't like it was with Allison, with smiles and muffled laughter and gentle touches. Sometimes when they were with Allison, they were rough and the three of them would sweat and grunt and writhe together, but it wasn't like this. There was something animal and savage in the way they pushed and pulled against each other, teeth and nails scraping across skin. But they weren't bloodthirsty. This wasn't the wolf with teeth around the lamb's neck, wasn't a battle for dominance. It was the unloved creature desperate for love, for someone to touch and to feel. It was a pack apart for too long, licking each others' wounds and taking solace in the warmth and contact.

They still didn't speak. Scott would move and groan into Isaac's neck. Isaac would grind against Scott and moan and grip at his legs and back and shoulders. Afterwards, they held their bodies against each other. Beneath the sweat and lust Scott could smell fear and despair and darkness on Isaac's skin. Isaac buried his face into Scott's chest and let out violent, shuddering, deathly quiet sobs, the force of them reaching down to where Scott kept the pain of his own, deep in his gut. Scott felt it bubble up to the surface, but forced it down and deeper.

Scott played the alpha, held Isaac while Isaac held him, until they drifted into a fitful rest, dreaming between them of a girl with soft skin crossed by scars and a smile fleeting and bright. By the morning, Isaac was gone, with still no words between them.

 ◎◎◎ 

Eventually, Isaac started to return to the McCall house. At first, he just needed clothes, sneaked in and out quiet and quick. Scott could smell him and it was almost like it used to be. Some nights Scott could hear the creak of a floorboard and the squeak of bed springs, as Isaac came back to sleep in the beaten-up bed in the guest room, the bed he hadn't slept in since before Allison and before Scott and before everything else.

By the morning, he was always gone. Isaac came to smell what was, to him, all he could remember home and happiness being. When he lay on the musty bed he considered crossing the corridor, to where he could hear Scott breathing and wondering. He held himself back, attempted to convince himself that he does it to give Scott space. In truth, he did it because he didn't know if words could cross the divide between them, wide enough to loose an arrow across and watch it arc down and away without ever reaching the other side.

Instead Isaac lets the rising sun wake him and leaves in the early-morning stillness.

 ◎◎◎ 

The night of the first full moon since Allison Scott felt the animal snarling in the cage of his chest. He tried to control it, crush down his urges like he did during the day. But at night he could barely keep from howling until his throat was hoarse and his cheeks aching. Scott felt the darkness he held inside of him grip his chest, stronger than ever before. It was always present, a swarming shadow around his heart, but in his fevered state it felt tighter and harder and colder, like the darkness Allison had held slipped from her dying body, pouring into his.

Scott felt like his first shift all over again, seized by that powerful urge, to rend and tear and claw. But this time was still different. He only wanted to rip at his own throat, his own chest, to tear out his pulsing veins and still-beating heart. He needed to rip the darkness seething under his ribs, scratch out the dull ache he had buried for days and weeks and months.

Instead he huddled on the floor, feral nails digging into palms.

You will not change, you will not change.

He buried his head between his knees, let out a painful, animal sob. He must be his own anchor. He had done it before, controlled his urges through his own force of will.

Be your own anchor.

Allison's lips on his, Allison's hands wrapped around his hips, Allison's fingers laced through his hair.

Be your own anchor.

Animal rage and human fear swirled from Scott's skin, filling the room with a cloud of muddled scents.

Be your own anchor.

There was another pair of hands around his wrists. Not calloused by bowstrings, but softer and thinner and stronger. There was a new scent, too, but not leather and fresh flowers, instead something sharper and masculine.

Isaac pressed his forehead against Scott's, kept his fingers curled around his wrists, ignoring the blood which dripped down from pierced palms.

"Be my own anchor," Scott mumbled, through wolf's teeth.

Isaac said nothing. Instead he held Scott tight to his chest, heads pressed together, until the angry moon was swapped for the sun.


End file.
